


Control

by Jaydeemz



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: M/M, Spoilers for Episode 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 08:55:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3375449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaydeemz/pseuds/Jaydeemz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all about who has control, and Connor is more than willing to relinquish it if that's what Oliver needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Control

**Author's Note:**

> I realized that I had posted this on Tumblr a while ago, but it never made it to Ao3. Oops. Here it is. :)

Oliver notices how silent he’s been through dinner, but he doesn’t trust his own tongue. The credits have barely started running on the television that he stands up brutally fast, diving for the kitchen before he can make a fool of himself. It’s only when he gets to the sink and begins to run the water for the dishes that he realizes that he’s left their plates behind.

Connor’s silent, too. He brings their wine glasses and Oliver chugs the rest of his glass, while Connor casually leaves his on the kitchen island. He steps back in the living room to pick up their plates and utensils, and Oliver frantically begins to scrub at whatever his hands grasp in the sink.

His heart’s racing as Connor makes some offhand comment about the show they’re watching. Oliver misses half of what’s said to him, because of the blood that’s rushing through his ears. This is domestic. This is exactly what he had wished for in September, back when Connor would drop in to see him for something else than work. Three months later, it was a reality, and frankly, it was a little bit too much for Oliver to be able to handle. It had been easy with his last — and only — fling; the man had cooked him dinner, and Oliver had pretended to be happy.

This was Connor Walsh, however, and Oliver wanted so much more than just a fling. He wanted this to be real.

One moment, Oliver’s hands are cleaning dishes. The water’s hot, stinging his knuckles, but he doesn’t notice as the cup he’s washing slips from his fingers and gradually sinks in the soapy water. He picks up a pair of salad tongs instead and energetically begins to scrub at them, desperate to dispel some of his nervous energy.

He’d warned Connor not to come too close, yet the idiot had casually slid up to him to place their dishes on the counter. Oliver almost groaned at his own weakness. Connor’s sleeve had briefly brushed against his elbow, and that had been enough to melt down his defences. The damn shirt Connor wore — dark, fitted, with pale buttons that Oliver itched to touch — simply wasn’t a fair move on the student’s part. Connor knew Oliver loved seeing him in dark clothes.

He hears Connor play with the wine glass behind him, and suddenly, he doesn’t want to hold back. He whirls around, taking long steps until he has Connor backed up against a wall — right where he ought to be, his mind screams — and his fingers come up to grasp at Connor’s soft hair. Their lips press together insistently, and it’s everything that Oliver remembers it to be. It’s warm and delicious, and Connor’s breath hitches in his throat as he kisses back deeply.

The water and soap slide down Oliver’s bare wrists, and it suddenly dawns on him that Connor isn’t touching him. A rush of shame overtakes him in an instant, and he pulls back in a panic. Words tumble from his lips, unbidden, but he still sees the relieved look in Connor’s eyes, and that cuts deeper than anything he’s felt over these last few months.

It hurts, but Oliver still wants him.

***

Connor figured that it would take a lot of time and effort before Oliver agreed to touch him again, hence why he was — pleasantly — surprised when Oliver launched himself at him. Water droplets raced down his neck as he took everything that Oliver was willing to give, his eyes fluttering closed as he sighed happily.

Oliver tasted like suppressed lust, and although Connor’s instincts screamed at him to take control of the kiss, he simply leaned back and allowed Oliver to get the frustration out of his system. It was all teeth, tongue, and raw anger from the other man, and Connor drank in the attention like a parched man. Tension eased from his body and he felt his fingers twitch, but he struggled to remain as still as possible, so he wouldn’t startle Oliver into pulling back. After everything Connor’s done to them, he feels that Oliver deserves control.

It doesn’t last long enough; reality hits them both at the same time. Oliver jerks away and Connor’s eyes open slowly.

The next few moments are a blur. Connor can’t control his expressions any more; he knows the smile is playing on his face, and then panic, and then stunned silence when Oliver utters some of those frighteningly desirable words.

“I more than like you.”

For one dreadful moment, he’s tempted to run. He swore to Oliver that he would never let him go to jail, and by staying, Connor is putting Oliver at risk. Yet Connor can still feel the warmth of Oliver’s lips, and still smells the bubbles popping on his neck, and he wants this more than he thought he did. Oliver is security and warmth and home; he’s a constant in the unpredictability of the student’s current life, and Connor realizes that it’s exactly what he needs.

After they’ve talked, they don’t tumble into bed or tear at each other’s clothing. They sit in silence, another show playing on TV, like nothing has changed. Yet Connor is sitting by Oliver, and their thighs are touching, and they’re sharing a blanket. When Connor leaves a few minutes before midnight, they share a chaste kiss, and Connor walks home with a smile tugging at his lips…

(He’s still smiling when the text from Wes hits his phone. He punches in his password, and the familiar sense of dread makes him stop on the sidewalk as he looks at the screen with horror.)


End file.
